Fairy Tale 2
by CSI Clue
Summary: Baby makes three. Tony learns to cope.
1. Chapter 1

Pepper considered getting up. This was always problematic now, and sometimes required assistance—a fact she wasn't thrilled about, given how Tony smirked about it. Still, she needed to move now that her bladder was aching, and with a sigh, Pepper gripped the arms of the chair, preparing to heave herself up.

Balance, she knew. It was all just a matter of shifting the center of gravity, and getting some momentum behind it. Pepper sucked in a breath and heaved forward, making a little headway. Then gravity caught up with her backside, and Pepper slumped back in the chair, defeated for the moment

"Damn it," she grumbled, half annoyed, half amused by her predicament. Glaring down at the volleyball shaped bulge below her waist, Pepper sighed. "You're not making this easy, are you?"

The lump said nothing, of course, but Pepper sensed a tiny hint of smugness that was clearly Stark in nature. She rubbed her belly and sighed. "Okay, funny as this is, I really need to get up and go to the bathroom, sweetie. A cranky mommy is not a fun mommy."

With a little more effort, Pepper managed to get to her feet; not that she could see them much. Gone were the stilettos of old, replaced with slip-on Sketchers in light red. She waddled across the living room, rubbing her lower back a bit, zeroing in on the bathroom just off the kitchen. Afterwards, while washing her hands, Pepper looked at herself critically in the mirror there.

She looked good, she admitted. Some sleeplessness of late, but her skin was nice, her weight was on target, according to Doctors Lloyd, and overall Pepper felt better than she had in the first two thirds of her pregnancy. Thanks to the elixir, the morning sickness was done at least and that helped.

Pepper sighed. Tony had been amazingly patient about that aspect; something she truly hadn't expected of him at all. She'd never expected him to hold her hair out of the way or stroke her back soothingly as she threw up, but he had.

"I learned all this caretaking stuff from _you_ you know," he'd pointed out. "Although generally I was too busy ralphing up booze to get all the finer points in."

"You're," she gasped, "doing fine—" and then punctuated her assurance with another retch.

Fortunately, Tony seemed to know better than to tease her about it while it was happening, although he was merciless at other times. He'd sent her a catalog of designer trash cans at one point, asking her to color coordinate her choices with the rooms of the mansion and although Pepper had tried to be annoyed, she had laughed.

*** *** ***

They'd adjusted, although not all of it had been easy—understatement of the year, as far as Pepper was concerned. Dealing with the curiosity and speculation of the media had been tough, but Jarvis had arranged for a few carefully staged photos to insinuate that Pepper was choosing single parenthood with Tony's grudging tolerance.

The photos had been fun to set up: Pepper being dropped at her doctor's office with Tony and Happy driving off; a shot of her at a Mommy and Me gym picking up enrollment information; a quick photo of her at the Stark Industries benefits desk, filling out paperwork. Jarvis had arranged for the pictures to be 'leaked' to a few sources, and they helped to create the impression to all and sundry that the ever-resourceful Ms. Potts was going it alone.

Naturally, Tony hated the entire process. "Jesus, I look like a total *bastard* kicking you to the curb!" he groused at the first picture. "One big heartless asshole, sending his faithful, pregnant PA into the rain!"

"Tony, it's Southern California. It only rains when the special effects people are making a movie," she teased him when they studied the photo in the magazine together.

"I don't care if it was the most perfect cloudless day there ever was. I'm a son-of–a-bitch for dropping you off like laundry and I deserve to get my ass kicked. Hell, I'd kick it myself after this photo!"

"Then it's served its purpose," Pepper assured him sweetly. "Clearly in these you're not the proud and doting father-to-be that I know you are."

Tony, however was not completely appeased. "I want photos that tell the truth," he mumbled. "Secret beautiful pictures to counteract the sordid *lies* we're forced to throw to the media."

"Remind me again which one of us is hormonal?"

"I'm serious. I don't want our kid to find these shots years from now and think 'Gee, Dad really *is* as fucked up as people say—look at the way he treated Mom and me before I was born!"

"Tony," she shot him a patient and bemused glance, "you of *all* people should appreciate the need to deceive, but if it matters that much to you, then yes, we can take some pictures that refute the lies, okay?"

"Thank you," came his soft, simple reply. Tony let go of the tabloid and moved to put his arms around her, brushing his cheek against hers as Pepper relaxed against him. Against her skin he whispered, "We already have to hide so much as it is—the Arc, Fey blood, and now this. I know the three of us are never going to have a *normal* life, but I want it to be . . . loving, at the very least."

She hugged him, hard.

*** *** ***

Tony felt frustrated. In the old days, this would have been the cue for a binge; either a bacchanalian overload of alcohol, women, and possibly drugs, OR a weeklong marathon of coffee, schematics, calculations and engineering in his workshop.

Both would have ended badly, he knew. The alcohol could only dull perception for so long, and it was difficult to dispose of both the women and drugs afterwards. As for the engineering jags, far too often he'd crashed and found himself hours later, drooling on blueprints, or twitching on a caffeine high so intense that a straitjacket looked calming.

There was always a third option nowadays, and Tony hated to admit it, but donning the Suit and going out to kick terrorist ass was, he'd learned, very stress-relieving. Delivering righteous smack-downs was one way he could channel his frustrations without falling back into old, dangerous habits, and the added bonus of coming home to Pepper each time sweetened the deal.

Pepper.

She was definitely worth it, though, and Tony still marveled at the magnificent twist of fate that had brought the two of them to this point in their lives. Ever since discovering his hitherto unrealized Fey heritage along with the fact that his most loyal and loving companion was heir to the same, things at Mansion Malibu had been good.

Damned good.

Only a few little minor points of contention marred it, in fact. One was Pepper's refusal to marry him . . . but Tony was sure he could eventually win her over. He had time, resources and charm; the campaign was ongoing and relentless.

The other was the not so subtle pressure from the Fey community to promise the baby in a Bond, and Tony was adamant *that* wasn't going to happen, no matter WHAT tradition said. As far as he was concerned, tradition had personally screwed him over, and Tony figured he didn't owe the Fey anything.

Mab though, had other ideas.

"The very foundation of your family's wealth comes from your father's choosing to promise *you* in bond, Anthony. And you have benefited *greatly*from his decision."

"That was my father and that was the *past;* I'm not him," Tony snapped back testily. The two of them were having lunch together on a private terrace at the Malibu Grill, looking out over the ocean. Tony could see his mansion off in the distance to the south, just over Mab's shoulder.

He wondered what *her* wings looked like. Mab hadn't revealed them back during the Bonding, and for a fairy as old as she was . . .

"Clearly not," Mab sniffed. "It's sad to see that the element of common sense has skipped this generation."

"Tradition is overrated," Tony told her impatiently. "And in any case, it's not as if you can *compel* me. I know your Glamour is legendary, but I've wised up in the last few months, and I know you wouldn't force me to do this."

"What about a bribe?" Mab responded after a few moments. She turned her gaze to the water, and Tony looked to see what caught her attention.

Three lithe, green-scaled mermaids were leaping in the waves, disappearing as quickly as they'd appeared. He blinked, and shot a sidelong look at Mab, who smirked.

"Nieces of mine," she offered. "You're right. I wouldn't force you to make a Bond for your child, Anthony. But, I *might* make an offer that's difficult to refuse."

"Spoken like a true Godmother," Tony muttered. "You would. But there's nothing you can offer my kid. I have money, power, loving parents--"

"—Security," Mab interrupted him. "World-wide; twenty-four hours, seven days a week security, Anthony. The eyes and ears and Bond of Every Fey blood on the planet, watching out for your baby."

Tony drew in a breath, and the implications of Mab's offer sat heavily between them, like a promise carved in granite. He closed his eyes to control his fury, all too aware that Mab had hit the one small chink in his armor with precise aim.

Security.

Life before becoming Fey had been difficult. Life after Iron Man had become even *more* difficult. Now life as a Fey as well had made the issue of safety all the more paramount. The Ten Rings were regrouping; there were mutant-haters; hero-haters; terrorists both domestic and home-grown; madmen with agendas and cunning intelligence, and despite all his efforts, Tony dreaded the day that one of those rabid wolves outside the gates would find a way in.

"You bitch," he breathed.

Mab said nothing, and had the compassion not to smile. Instead, she held out her hands, palm facing palm, and a soft little glow began to shine out between them, unearthly and hard to look at. "Yes," she murmured. "I am that, truly. But I am also a Godmother determined to protect my Godchild."

"You don't care about this baby," Tony countered. "Not really. My kid is just another pawn to you; another Fey to be manipulated."

"And you're not prepared to protect your child from everyone and everything out there that could harm it. Or your Bond mate," Mab shot back. The form in her hands took shape; a crystal mermaid lounging on a rock, the figure tiny and beautiful, glints of color dancing along the cut edges. Mab flexed her fingers and the statue solidified. She caught it and set it down on the table, pushing it towards Tony. "Here. It sings a lullaby."

Tony stared at it. "Thanks," he muttered.

Mab gave a slow, long sigh. "Anthony, believe what you will about me, but understand this: you're not immortal. You *will* die someday, and given what you're doing, it may very well be sooner rather than later. Don't let your mistrust of *me* lead you to a bad choice for Virginia and your child, because like it or not, the Fey *are* your family, by blood and by tradition. That's all I have to say on the matter."

"No it's not," Tony accused her in a monotone. "There are still three weeks to go before the baby is born, so I'm sure I'll be hearing yet another variation of this theme between now and then."

Mab glared at him but couldn't hold it for long; she laughed, finally, and Tony did too, a momentary truce as they both relaxed and sat back in their chairs.

"True," Mab admitted, "but then again, stubbornness is a trait you have from your mother. Your child will have some strong strains if it from *both* sides of the family."

"I don't really consider that a drawback, you know."

"You will," Mab predicted confidently, "Right around toilet-training time. Your mother thought you were going to drive her insane through that. Seriously, Anthony: your terrible twos were legendary. Maria once told me she sure you plotted your tantrums deliberately to coincide with her garden parties and gala benefits."

Tony didn't look at her, but he listened intently, hungry for moments like this. Mab shared them during these lunches, and he both resented and appreciated the little insights she told about his mother and father. It seemed so strange to think of them as young, struggling parents, but Mab's words were honest, and Tony knew her recollections were true.

"I," he told her firmly, "was a spirited child."

"*Were?*" Mab pointedly muttered, shooting him a tolerantly amused look. "As far as I can see, you still ARE, Anthony. Never mind though; you'll learn how the other side feels soon enough. Is Virginia still taking the Tiger Dew?"

"Faithfully," he replied. Tiger Dew was the only treatment that helped keep her nausea at bay, and Tony was grateful for that. Mab gave a sigh and began to rise from the table, her profile elegant in the warm sunshine. She accepted Tony's help, and held his arm as he walked with her from the table they'd shared, looking for all the world like a devoted nephew with his elderly aunt.

Which was what everyone non-Fey believed.

*** *** ***

_Pepper sat cross-legged on a blanket in the wheat field, concentrating on her breathing. The warm night air carried the scent of grasses, and the stars overhead seemed to dance._

_They actually *were* dancing, but Pepper didn't look up. She'd seen most of their disco and chorus line repertoire through the years, and in any case, her mind was occupied elsewhere. On the blanket with her, Augie sat, looking slightly tense._

"_So then she tells me we need time, and I'm crowding her; that she doesn't have enough space. Space I tell you! We have a whole guest bed! And shelves, ya know. Tons of space, right there. Space my feathered tushie! I bet Miss Hot Gams was never stuck in a shoebox in the back of a closet for four years!"_

"_I said I was sorry about that," Pepper murmured, not opening her eyes. "You weren't the *only* thing I had to put into storage for a while, Augie."_

"_Oh I know, I know," the penguin dismissed it with a wave of one plushie flipper. "You're missing the *point,* babe, which is, I am NOT crowding her! Sheesh! All I want is to be, you know, together."_

"_Forever?" Pepper mumbled._

"_Well of course!" Augie squawked. "I mean we're making it work, right? That whole 'vegetarian/pescetarian' thing, and I'm totally good with bringing the kids up in her faith--"_

_Startled, Pepper opened one eye. "Her faith?"_

_Augie nodded. "She's an Arborist. High church."_

_Pepper snorted. "And what are YOU? Church of the Exalted Anchovy?"_

_Augie glared at her with his beady glassy eyes. "Briny Baptist. Full immersion, you know."_

_It was hard not to laugh but Pepper bit her lips and nodded, trying to look supportive. Augie huffed a bit._

_No one could huff better than an annoyed penguin, Pepper realized, and she reached over to stroke him. Augie tried not to give in, but by the third pat, he sighed and flopped over against her thigh. "Aw man . . . why, babe? Why is she *doing* this to me?"He mumbled in a dispirited voice._

_Pepper sighed. "I don't know. You *did* come on a little . . . strong."_

_The plushie gave a dramatic sigh. "That's my style; my way, woman. I see what I want and GO for it. And in this case, oh hubba, those long, long leggies, and those big brown eyes and that *smile!* Did I mention I'm in love with a smokin' giraffe?"_

"_More than once," Pepper nodded. "Augie—give her a day or two, okay? Just hang out here, and let Miss Clairol, um, figure out how wonderful you are."_

"_Sure, sure. I can spare a few minutes," Augie languished. _

_All was quiet for a while, and Pepper pressed her hands to her rounded belly, concentrating, feeling a sweet sense of pleasure._

_The bubbly awareness reached out from within and touched hers. Innocence. Joy. Delight._

"_Hi," Pepper whispered. "How are you, sweetheart?"_

_The response was some solid kicking, and despite the sensation, Pepper laughed. She brushed her hair back and rubbed a hand along her belly once more. "Yes, well it's good to see you too," she murmured. "Or feel you, I suppose."_

_A rumbly shift seemed to concur, and Pepper smiled. She took a moment to concentrate again, quietly sending waves of love to the little being deep within her._

_Augie gave a dramatic sigh. "Even though my heart is breaking and my entire LIFE is in a shambles—how's the kid?"_

"_Doing good," Pepper assured him. "Feeling a little bit cramped through. I can tell that baby-do wants to stretch."_

"_Don't say stretch!" Augie moaned. "That makes me think of long, tall and gorgeous. Like in that seven mile long neck I love to nibble—"_

_Pepper rolled her eyes, but before she got halfway through the response, a tight constricting cramp rolled through her belly. She froze; this was stronger than her usual little Braxton-hicks. "Oh."_

"_Oh? That's the best you can do?" Augie snapped. "Oh? You're supposed to be supporting me in my hour of crisis here, 'Ginia!"_

"_No I am, but I just had a really strong . . . contraction," Pepper admitted quietly. "I think I better wake up."_

_Augie fluffed in alarm. "Don't panic!" he told her. "No panicking, okay? You KNOW how bad I am with panic!"_

_Pepper scooped him up, squeezing him hard. "Calm. Down. NOW."_

_He blinked, yellow glass eyes focusing on her once more, plush slowly settling along his stuffed body. "Okaaaay. Thanks; we're good. So—do you think I should like, send her flowers or something?" _


	2. Chapter 2

The widescreen filled almost one entire wall of the birthing room, and Pepper was embarrassed at the size of it, but arguing with Tony about the matter was useless. He'd insisted on the best for her, and everyone at the hospital was more than willing to accommodate the man who forked over those huge charitable donations on a yearly basis.

Currently Pepper was watching Uhura cuddling a tribble, and dreading Tony's return from the cafeteria down on the second floor. Already she had more juice and bottled water sitting around than she could ever hope to consume, but it seemed to be the only errand that could pry the man from her side.

Pepper patted her belly once more. "So, can we speed this up a little now? Your father is really bad at waiting, and to be honest, I'm sort of ready for you to be born myself."

She sensed little from the baby, and figure it was probably sleeping. Pepper wished _she_ could sleep, but between the monitors, the odd little hospital noises and hovering anxious Tony, it was fairly impossible. On the screen, the lovefest with the tribbles continued, and Pepper was just getting into the episode again when Tony surged through the doorway, arms full of bottles.

"You're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Didn't have the baby while I was gone?"

"No," Pepper assured him. "I held back for those three minutes."

Tony made a face as he set the bottles down, crowding them with the others on the bedside table. "Okay, I deserved that, but seriously, Pepper—birth needs to be streamlined; made more efficient. All this waiting around is counterproductive."

"Tony," she warned him as he sat on the bed near her hip. "It's biology, not engineering. You can't produce babies the way you produce durable goods. There are finite time requirements."

"I'm not talking pre-production," he argued. "I'm good with the nine months thing, even though you two are jumping the gun right now. No, I'm talking actual delivery of the finished product. Speeding up the end of the assembly line, as it were."

"Currently that would require drugs or surgery," Pepper replied with a sigh. "And neither one is feasible or necessary right now. Paaa-tience, Mr. Stark."

He made a moue. "I'm patient. Completely patient. I've been patient for _hours_ now."

The look Pepper shot him was withering, and Tony bit his lip. She groaned a moment later, and he took her hand, checking his watch quickly. "Seven sixteen. Last one was what? Nine minutes ago?"

"S-something like that," Pepper chuffed, gritting her teeth. They rode it out together for the long seconds, and when she released his hand, Tony rubbed his eyes.

"Inefficient," he grumbled.

Pepper flashed him a weary smile and shifted her attention to the TV, where Kirk was being buried in tribbles. "Oh, I'd _love_ that," she sighed.

Tony looked up. "Being buried in little furballs?"

"They're not furballs, they're tribbles. They'd be all soft and comfortable and warm, like a living blanket. Like being in a pile of kittens," Pepper murmurs. "Kittens with no claws, who coo."

Tony cocked his head, staring at the screen. "That gives me an idea . . ."

"What idea?" Pepper demanded, instantly suspicious. Tony's ideas had a bad habit of getting out of hand, and right now wasn't a good time for him to go into some sort of design trance---

_Or_, she admitted to herself impishly, _maybe it was_. He was scrabbling around like a dog, and Pepper knew he was looking for pen and paper. Before he could start scribbling on the back of her chart, she handed him a pen. "Here."

"Thanks," came his preoccupied murmur, and quiet reigned for a while as Pepper's white bed sheets filled up with notes, equations and lists. She rode through a few more contractions, content to have Tony nearby, but busy.

*** *** ***

He could hardly speak, which for him was rare. Tony wasn't one often at a loss for words, but the last hour, coming on the heels of nearly two days of waiting and pacing and sketching and planning and *pushing* was simply, nearly, too much.

Tony looked at his hands; at the warm, lavender blanket-wrapped package in them. Small squashed face topped with silky wisps of black hair under the cap. Button nose; impossibly small mouth opening in a kitten yawn; pink chin.

"Max," he whispered. "Maxibillion James Potts, but really--Stark."

"Maximillian," Pepper murmured in correction. She had her eyes closed, resting. The room was quiet; even the full screen TV was off now and the nurses and doctor had gone.

"I'm a billionaire, so it stands to reason he'd be Maxibillion," Tony countered in a low, distracted voice. "I will, however, settle for *your* spelling on the birth certificate. Oh Pepper, he's excellent. Fantastic work all round."

She dimpled, not opening her eyes, but one hand slid over to touch Tony's thigh reassuringly. "I started with quality materials—at least from the contributing donor."

Tony brought the baby up to his chest and lightly stroked his cheek; Max squirmed, trying to follow the feel of the finger against his skin. "The quality all comes from _you_, my moth-winged love. He's got your ears. Not sure about the nose yet—let's hope he gets yours and not mine."

"Mmmm," came her tired murmur. "Have you called Mab and Rhodey yet?"

"I'm sure Mab knows," Tony sighed, looking at the bouquets and baskets of flowers around the room. "She doesn't miss much on the radar, and this event is kind of a biggie."

"It would still be nice if you called her yourself and let her know about Max's birth," Pepper murmured, sitting up and reaching for the baby.

Reluctantly Tony handed his son back. "I didn't even get a full turn with him."

"Wait until it's diaper-changing time," Pepper smiled. "Then Max can be all yours."

"I'm excused from diaper-changing," Tony teased. "I have a note."

"Right," she smirked at him and cuddled the baby up to her. "Now shoo, Tony, before someone from the hospital leaks your presence. I'm a single mother, remember?"

"Like hell," he grumbled, and rose slowly, looking at Pepper with the baby along her chest. "Pepper . . ."

"I know, I know—you're only going along with this because you love me and I love you _for_ it," she replied in a low voice. "But stick to the plan, Tony. I need you to do that. For the three of us."

He blinked and nodded, then bent closer to kiss Pepper, lingering a moment before shifting to brush his lips over his son's forehead.

Max yawned again, little pink mouth wide for a moment.

*** *** ***

"Boy, seven pounds, nine ounces, twenty-two inches long," Tony bragged on the phone to Rhodey. "Damn it, he's _perfect_, Platypus. Completely perfect!"

"Congratulations, Tony!" came the cheerful whoop from the other end of the line. "How's Pepper?"

"Came through it in flying colors," Tony praised, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder. He was barefoot in the workshop, hands busily flying over the holographic design engine, working with what appeared to be geodesic domes. Moving swiftly, his fingers danced through a few changes, shifting the shapes down until they were baseball-sized.

"That's great!" Rhodey replied. "So—it's still _her_ baby, huh?"

"Yeah, don't remind me," Tony sighed. He adjusted some of the components on the design again, and typed in a query for non-allergenic synthetic fur.

_Colors?_ the computer demanded.

"Baby boy compatible," Tony murmured.

"What?" Rhodey asked.

"Nothing. Listen, you're going to go see her, right? Get pictures, man. I completely forgot, and I'm not allowed to go see Pepper and Max until tonight, but I want something ASAP. Send 'em as soon as you take them, okay?"

"Will do," Rhodey agreed, "fatherhood—never thought I'd see the day you got into that, Tony. I think it's going to be good for you."

"Me too," Tony agreed. "Me too. And keep in mind it's one more thing that _I've_ done first. Need to keep up, Platypus."

Rhodey said a few bad words, laughing as he did so, and Tony grinned, hanging up the phone. His gaze drifted around the room and focused in on the sofa.

More specifically, the penguin sitting on the sofa.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, hitting the last command on the design program. Instantly a series of machines and gears sprang to life across the workshop, moving in synchronous harmony. Tony stepped around the computer table and strode over to the sofa, picking up Augie and staring at him. "I thought you were upstairs, making moves I would rather not know about on my childhood companion."

The stuffed plushie said nothing, and Tony sighed, setting him down again. "Eh, who am I to knock true love, right? As long as you make her happy, I won't have to accidently donate you to the Salvation Army."

Tony glanced over at the machinery that was efficiently assembling his latest design, and spoke softly. "Estimated assembly time, Jarvis?"

"Two hours. Finished product is contingent on acceptable acrylic covering," came the prompt response.

Tony gave a nod, yawned, and dropped himself heavily on the sofa, nearly knocking the plushie off. He stretched out. "Nap. Then back to the hospital. Jarvis, wake me in two hours."

"With unbridled delight, sir."

*** *** ***

His toes were amazing, Pepper decided. And his little fingers. She'd spent a good deal of time playing with both, and from her perspective, Max was nothing short of perfection, albeit with pink, wrinkly sort of beauty.

Pepper had never spent much time with infants. She'd babysat in her youth, and had held and played with the children of friends and cousins, but in the last several years her contacts with anything this adorably sweet had been limited. She figured she was biased about the 'adorably sweet' part, but when Max let his wandering gaze pass over her, and his little bow mouth pursed up, Pepper felt a welling deep inside that threatened to bring tears.

"You are my baby-do, and I love you," Pepper whispered softly as she picked her son up and brought him to her shoulder. Max squirmed. She laughed, cradling him closer and luxuriating in the clean, soft scent of his skin. Carefully Pepper ran her fingers down his tiny shoulder blades, feeling them through the blue onesie he wore.

She wondered what Max's wings would be like. There was no doubt he'd sprout them, Pepper knew; the genetics guaranteed it. Carefully she shifted her son and laid him down on the folded blanket, moving to check his diaper.

They'd been at the mansion for three days now, and were settling into a routine of sorts, albeit far different from that of other mothers and newborns, certainly. Pepper knew other new mothers didn't have an automated house AI, two robots and a hovering, fascinated partner.

Well, some probably had the latter, she acknowledged to herself, although precious few of _those_ were billionaire geniuses.

"Is he wet?" came Tony's concerned voice, breaking into her thoughts. He had come up the stairs from the workshop quietly, watching them both.

Pepper didn't look away from Max, and carefully undid the diaper, peeking in quickly. "Nope."

"Ah," the obvious relief in his voice made her smirk as she redid the tapes along Max's skinny hips.

"I _know_ you, Mr. Stark. You want your son to unload when his Godmother arrives," Pepper sighed. "Just to gross her out."

"I do not," he muttered in a tone that indicated Pepper had hit the nail on the head. "But if Max decides to make his . . . opinions . . . known when the old bat is shows up, who am I to stop him?"

"Stop looking hopeful and find a nicer shirt to wear," Pepper chided him. "Please."

Tony slipped around the sofa and scooted in, reaching for the baby. "Tell you what--_you_ go pick one out and I'll keep an eye on the Wild Thing while you do. We have man stuff to talk about."

"Man stuff," Pepper scoffed, rising to hide her grin. "As IF."

"Man stuff," Tony reiterated with dignity. "No moms allowed." He lifted Max up and cradled him, the action still slightly awkward, and looked towards Pepper, pointing with his chin. "Go on—pick out my clothes, the way I know you _want_ to."

She rolled her eyes and moved off, leaving Tony to look down at his son. Max sucked on one of his tiny fists, quiet for the moment, and Tony waited until Pepper was out of the room before leaning back and bringing the baby closer up against his shoulder. "Hey. So . . . I know it's going to be a while since we really have to consider this, but I just wanted you to know that there's _no_ pressure to go to MIT. Cal Tech is just fine, and your mom would probably prefer it since it's closer to home . . ."

The baby reacted to his voice, wriggling a little and turning his face towards Tony, eyes wide. For a long moment, Tony simply looked at his son, feeling a tenderness so deep that it bordered on painful. He blinked to clear his vision and caught one small foot in his free hand, letting his thumb stroke along the sole. "Max," he murmured, not able to say anything more for a moment.

Down in the workshop, the Suit maintenance and upgrade machinery was etching a small photo of Pepper and Max into the inside wall of the armor, just to the left of the Arc circle.

Tony figured that was as close to his heart as he'd be able to get it, and one small sentimentality wasn't going to interfere with anything.

*** *** ***

Max's christening ceremony took place as a private affair at the United Methodist Church in Zuma Beach. Tony fought for the right to go; Pepper gave in when he promised to come in a separate car and sit in the pews with Rhodey. Neither of those terms made Tony happy, but the thought of missing the event was worse, so he scowled as he stood next to his best friend, saying nothing as he looked over the guests.

There were several faces he knew from Stark Industries; Pepper was popular and well-liked, that Tony knew. There were a few people he recognized from the Fey world, including Renata Betancourt, who gave him a pleasant nod. Tony wondered what she was doing at the Christening, but turned his attention to the ceremony as Rhodey and Mab came forward to be named Godparents.

Mab's real-world name was actually Maeve, Tony discovered. He also realized that she and Rhodey were getting along very well. Maybe TOO well, he scowled.

Jim still didn't actually . . . know about the Fey. He'd dismissed Tony's remark about being a fairy as a joke, and since then, Tony hadn't tried to bring it up again. Showing Rhodey his wings—Tony wasn't sure that would be a good thing. He'd pulled too many practical jokes in the past for Rhodey to trust him point-blank, and Tony wasn't about to let anyone else see _Pepper's_ wings.

Ever.

After the ceremony, people gathered outside in the shade of the trees and took pictures. Tony kept his distance, maintaining an eye on the group. He noted that a number of paparazzi were across the street, snapping photos as well, so he glumly made it a point to chat with Renata, who seemed instinctively to understand, and stood nearby.

"He's adorable, Mr. Stark. You should be very proud," she told him in an undertone.

Tony nodded, managing a smile. "Thanks."

"So, have you decided about Mab's offer?" Renata murmured, flashing a grin at Tony's startled expression. "Oh believe me, we ALL know about it; it's the only bargaining chip she's got, but it's a good one."

Tony sighed. "No, I haven't decided yet. You'll understand my reluctance to be in debt to her, I'm sure."

Renata nodded sympathetically. "Of course, but I hope you look beyond her part in it and consider the rest of us. If we Fey don't look out for each other, then who will?"

He eyed her for a moment, but Renata held his gaze, her own empathetic. "No I'm not her agent, if that's what you're thinking."

"Sorry, yeah—that did sound a bit like a sales pitch," Tony murmured.

Renata gave a shrug. "Not at all; whatever you and your mate decide is your choice and yours alone."

"So what's the benefit to _you_?" Tony asked intently. "Seriously—why should it matter to you or anybody else what _I_ decide for my kid?"

"Because nobody should ever be completely alone," Renata replied instantly. "And with Fey as family, you aren't. There's always someone to be there; to back you up; to help. I'm sorry your parents held back from telling you about your ties to the Fey world, Mr. Stark, but that was _their_ choice—it doesn't have to be yours."

Tony sighed, letting her opinion sink in, and then turned to glance at the distant Pepper, noting with alarm that she had her head bent down toward Mab, listening intently to something the elder Fey was saying.

Pepper straightened up quickly, and her sharp glance flashed across the distance, meeting Tony's.

It was _not_ a happy look at all.

*** *** ***


	3. Chapter 3

Pepper could multitask at roughly light-speed; she'd been doing it for years around Tony, and adding a baby into the routine had taken some adjustment, but she'd risen to it with aplomb. Currently she was re-diapering Max, directing Jarvis to run a bath and schedule a pediatric checkup, and arguing with Tony.

"How could you _not_ tell me about Mab's suggestion, Tony? I am Max's _mother_ and I have every _right_ to decide what's BEST for him!" she hissed, lightly slipping the old, wet diaper off and reaching for a fresh one.

Tony scooped up the used one and absent-mindedly rolled it up, smoothing down the tape to make it into a compressed package. "I was _going_ to tell you," he countered, his voice strained. "But I didn't think it was the right time, and anyway, I'm his *father* so I DO have some say in this as well, you know."

"Yes, but you don't have the _sole_ right to make a decision this big!" Pepper snapped. "Not without consulting _me!"_

"I KNOW," Tony shot back.

At that point Max began to cry, his thin little outraged wail rising up between his parents. Both of them blinked, looking guilty. Pepper scooped him up, murmuring comforting words and cradling him close while Tony squatted down next to them and rubbed a hand along Max's back soothingly.

With both of them working on his comfort, Max cried louder for a few moments, then settled down into a sulky snuffling, moving his face along Pepper's shoulder. She turned to watch the baby, her mouth quirking slightly at the sight. "You're hungry." Shifting her gaze, Pepper added, "Tony, this isn't over."

"No," he sighed in weary agreement, moving to sit next to her on the sofa. "Pepper—Mab wants us to promise Max in Bond in exchange for Fey security. Do you even _know_ if it's any good? Should we be signing our kid up to HER control without checking out what she's offering and maybe making a few demands of our own?"

Pepper was quiet for a moment, shifting Max to the crook of her arm and pulling up the bottom of her blouse. Tony was right of course; she'd seen enough of Fey politics to know that there were always loopholes and catches and contingencies to a lot of the Bond agreements. But she couldn't quite let go of the anger at being left out of the offer—not yet.

She brought Max up to her bared breast, lightly guiding the nipple across his lips; eagerly he nuzzled, latching on with alacrity. Tony smirked at the sight, giving a slight shake of his head.

"I know I'm a bastard for finding that erotic—"

"Stop it," Pepper murmured, trying not to smile. "Tony, I'm just—disappointed." She didn't look at him as she took a breath and spoke again. "I really need you to understand that raising Max is a joint venture. Neither one of us get controlling interest in matters that concern him."

"So . . . what happens when we deadlock?" Tony demanded softly. "Like now? Go to outside arbitration?"

"No. We talk it through," Pepper shot back with mild irritation. "Stop making everything into a joke, okay? I'm still angry."

Tony drew in a deep breath. "Pepper, look at us. This is crazy. We both want the best for Max and we both know that. Mab has us at each other's throats, and she's not even in the room. Yes, her offer sounds good, yeah, but what assurances can she actually _give _us? Look around, Pepper—I've got cameras, force fields, the highest level of security available NOW. _My _money is right here."

Pepper stroked Max's head; he had his eyes closed, nursing in bliss, kicking his feet happily every now and then. "That's great, Tony. Absolutely great if Max and I never ever leave the mansion again—or should I call it a compound now? Maybe a fortress."

"Pepper--" Tony growled, "--that's not fair. You can't have it both ways. We're either secure or we're not."

"You have things secure here," she agreed, "but we can't live cooped up forever Tony. That's not how I want our child to exist! That's why I won't let him have your name!"

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them before speaking again, his voice tight and controlled. "Pepper—okay, so _if _and it's a really BIG if--we take Mab's offer, can we at LEAST make some demands of our own and not just accept her proposal hook, line and sinker?"

"Yes," Pepper agreed quickly, looking over at him and nodding. "Of course. For one thing, I don't think we ought to keep knowledge of the Fey from Max."

"True," Tony agreed, breathing in deeply. "Upfront and honest with him from day one, I agree—not that I think Mab will object to that. What_ I_ want is some hard and fast rules about the damned Bond itself. I'm seriously not thrilled at the whole 'arranged marriage' feel of it."

Pepper sighed. "Tony, do you think our son is _ever _going to fit into normal society? He's going to have wings, and Charm and a lot of other gifts that will put him in a different realm most of the time. He's going to have a hard enough life in the limelight as it is."

Deftly she detached Max from her nipple and shifted him to the other breast before he could protest much, his little milky lips bubbling a bit. He latched on again and gave a small grunt of approval. Tony chuckled and reached over, running a hand over the rounding expanse of Max's stomach. "He sounded like—"

"—A little piglet," Pepper agreed, her dimples deepening as she snuggled the baby closer.

"I want him to be happy," Tony murmured in a low, emotional voice, "I want him to grow up loved, and safe and when the time is right, I want him to fall in love with someone who loves him back, Pepper. Is that so wrong?"

Pepper bent her head over the baby, biting her lips and slowly shaking her head. "No, Tony, of course that's not wrong. It's exactly what _I _want for him too, you know! I just don't know if it's going to be . . . easy."

"Well it . . . worked for us," Tony pointed out. Pepper gave him a disbelieving stare, and even as she looked at him, the corners of her mouth began to curl up as her mirth grew. Tony blushed a little, and rushed on, "it DID! After I came to my senses and realized I loved you and probably had for YEARS and that I'd already chosen you, everything worked out GREAT."

"Tony . . ." Pepper murmured, a giggle in her voice, "You are _so_ full of—"

"--I know, I know, diaper droppings," Tony grinned, "but I consider it true."

"You may be full unmentionable items, but you're wonderful just the same," Pepper murmured, and then her tone grew serious again. "I say we tell Mab we're . . . considering . . . her offer. That's not a commitment to buy, and that will buy us more time to . . . hash out the things we want on our side of it."

A few long minutes passed, and then Tony nodded, reluctantly. "Agreed."

"Max, let go; you're done." Reluctantly Pepper worked a pinkie into the corner of his little mouth to break the suction; Max shifted to nurse on that instead, fussing when he realized the difference.

Tony shifted to kiss Pepper's temple as he handed her a clean-up cloth. "Hey, I have a surprise for you and the piglet. You putting him down for a nap?"

"He's not . . . okay, well yes, he _is _a piglet," Pepper murmured, wiping Max's chin and lifting him to her shoulder. A few pats later, and the baby gave an enormous belch, then sighed contentedly.

"My son. I'm _so_ proud he takes after you," Tony chirped. Pepper shot him a lofty glance and rose; Tony followed them to the nursery.

"Tony—what . . .?" She stopped in the doorway, startled and slightly alarmed. On her shoulder, Max gave another little belch and kicked, pleased with himself. Tony kissed his son's small nose as he moved around past.

"I made'em. For him."

Crowded in the crib were furry, fuzzy tufted balls in shades of blue, red, yellow and green. Moving, fuzzy balls that were . . . cooing. Pepper stared at them.

"You're kidding. You . . . _made _. . . tribbles?"

"I made _baby_ tribbles. Not tribbles that are babies, tribbles _for_ babies," Tony pointed out, his words tumbling out. "They'll keep him warm and calm."

"I'm not putting our baby in a fuzzy mosh pit," Pepper announced. Tony scooped Max up, but instead of laying him down in the crib, he held him and smiled at Pepper.

"Go on--put your hand down near them."

Pepper did, reluctantly. The tribbles rolled over towards her palm and fingers, lightly brushing against them, settling right along the edges of her hand. They purred in three-part harmony, and the soft strains of _Brahm's Lullaby_ floated up. Stunned, Pepper moved her hand, and the tribbles snuggled against it. "How . . ."

"Jarvis helped with the orchestrations. I figured programming them with _my_ music would be probably bad at this point," Tony nodded. "Also, lean down and breathe on one."

Pepper was aware that bending over the lowered rail was not the most dignified position, but she did it anyway, and breathed on a little yellow tribble. It backed up instantly.

"Automatically programmed to avoid the nose and mouth. Probably won't be clustering around the back of his diaper either," Tony smirked, his gaze on Pepper's backside. "They're also programmed to alert us to wetness, fire, carbon monoxide, intruders, sudden changes in temperature---"

"All *that?" Pepper squeaked.

"I'll probably adjust them over time, but I figured they're still a basic design."

Pepper straightened up and turned, catching Tony's gaze on her backside. She fought a smirk, and moved closer, putting her arms around him and Max. "They're . . . I can't believe you remembered."

"Well yeah," Tony replied. "So they're okay?"

"One," Pepper told him. "For starters. I'll let _one_ cuddle with Max and we'll see how it goes."

Tony looked slightly mulish, but he moved to the edge of the crib and spoke to the furballs there. "Um, okay guys? I need you to huddle up at the end of the crib. With the stuffed animals, yeah."

Pepper blinked as the tribbles gave a collective little sigh of disappointment and began rolling reluctantly to the end of the crib.

"You—" Tony touched a small yellow one. "Hold it. _You _get to cuddle."

The chosen tribble quivered with happiness. It scooted in small circles in anticipation, and Tony gently laid Max down on his back. The tribble rolled over near Max's shoulder and gave a sweet little trill of joy.

Max blinked, trying to figure out the source of the sound. He turned his head slightly, unfocused eyes moving a bit. Tony stroked Max's dark fuzzy hair as the tribble inched closer, just touching the baby's shoulder.

"Tony," Pepper sighed, looking at the end of the crib. The pile of frustrated tribbles were all lined up, and she had the impression they were watching enviously, although of course none of them had eyes, as far as she could tell. "They're making me feel . . . guilty."

"Well their primary function _is _to look out for Max, so yeah," Tony shrugged. "I could shut them down, but I'd rather not."

Max yawned and gave a few fretful kicks, then as his parents watched, slowly dropped off to sleep as the tribble cooed quietly. Pepper relaxed slightly, and Tony put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing some of the tension out of them. He nuzzled her ear. "You need a nap too."

"Going to be _my _tribble?" Pepper shot him a slightly taunting sidelong glance. In reply, Tony brushed his goatee along her neck, making her squeak.

*** *** ***

If Mab was disappointed with their announcement, she didn't show it; instead, she continued to cradle Max in her arms while he stared up at her with wide, slightly alarmed eyes. Tony and Pepper flanked her on either side of the sofa, bracketing her with their bodies, their posture making it clear that while she was a guest, she was also being closely watched.

"I'm hardly surprised," she told them, smiling down at the baby. "But I understand. It's good to be cautious, especially with a darling little charmer like this one."

"Thank you," Pepper murmured, adding, "He takes after his father."

"Oh I can see quite a bit of Moth in him," Mab countered with quiet honesty. "Particularly around that sweet smile he's gotten from you."

Tony nodded and continued. "In any case, Pepper and I would like at least another six months to consider your offer."

"Of course," Mab waved a hand dismissively, "Of course. No rush—after all, he's decades away from entering into Fey society. Aren't you, Marsh princeling?" This last was to Max, who hiccupped in reply.

Pepper reached for him; Mab handed him back reluctantly, giving him a light kiss on the forehead before doing so. "Ah well . . . whatever you choose, he has _my_ protection at least."

"What does _that _mean?" Tony asked suspiciously. Mab flashed him a smile tinged with Glamour, and in the light of it, her eyes looked ancient and wise.

"The kiss of a fairy godmother is magic, Anthony. What do you think kept YOU alive all these years besides your own luck? Your Godmother Catriona kissed you when you were three hours old."

"I don't remember it," Tony muttered. "Catriona? My dad's aunt?"

"One and the same. She was a ferocious Dragonfly," Mab mused. "I daresay she would have LOVED that Suit of yours."

Pepper rose with Max, rocking him a little. "Someone's sleepy."

All of them went to the nursery together. Max's nursery was painted with a lovely sky theme, and the ceiling was speckled with glow in the dark stars. There were mobiles of planets and planes overhead (the latter a gift from his Godfather) and his crib set was dark blue with more stars.

"I approve," Mab nodded, looking up. "He'll thrive in an environment like this. In fact—"

She would have said more, but a sudden harsh hissing broke into her words, and startled, Tony, Pepper and Mab all stared at the crib.

The tribbles were hissing. Loudly.

Pepper blinked. Tony tried to turn his laugh into a cough as the protective furballs expressed their disapproval of Mab.

"They . . . don't know you," Tony tried to explain. "So they see you as . . . an intruder."

Mab loftily ignored the fuzzy catcalls and moved to kiss Max once more before turning a dry look at Tony. "I will see you for lunch on Wednesday as usual, Anthony."

"Sure," he told her retreating back. "It will be no tribble at all—"

Pepper was tucking Max in, but Tony could see her struggling not to laugh. "Go walk her out," was all she said.

When they both left the room, Pepper burst into giggles, and in his little protective furpile, Max cooed happily.

*** *** ***


	4. Chapter 4

Tony dodged the bullets, twisting in mid-flight, his concentration fierce. He could feel his shoulders aching slightly; the Suit's compression against his wings hurt, especially when adrenaline made them want to pop out. He gritted his teeth and looked down at the infuriated cluster of men aiming the rifles.

They stood on a long, narrow bridge over a stone gully, aiming up at him as he circled around, and Tony could see only two options. He could target the weapons, which would cost a few of the terrorists their hands, or he could target the bridge, which would kill them all. Neither could be called a good choice, but he needed to cut off the convoy that was due over the bridge within minutes.

"Jarvis, how low can we go?"

"Within ten and a half inches over the ground, sir, although your vibration is sure to set off whatever road mines we pass over," came the reply.

"Are there any? Along the bridge, I mean."

"There are not," Jarvis assured him. Tony gave a grunt and shifted, arcing around to the far end of the bridge, and dropping to parallel along the road, zooming towards the men.

"This is a little game we like to call Chicken," he murmured, building speed. The zippy 'pings' of bullets against the Suit didn't faze him, and for a moment he enjoyed the look of panic on the men's faces as he approached them at nearly ninety miles an hour. They began to drop their rifles and lose their nerve, pushing to get out of his way, crying out orders. Tony pulled up at the last possible moment, his afterburners igniting a few of their robes as he wheeled around.

The bridge was clear. Swiftly he extended an arm and blasted the structure, which went up in a dusty fountain of dirt and rubble, the brown sandy soil choking up the air.

Tony climbed higher, looking down at his handiwork with a sense of satisfaction. "I'd say that was pretty damned impassible now."

"Indeed sir, and you have cover as well. Might I suggest we take advantage of the confusion below and proceed home?"

"Copacetic with me. Let's ride—" Tony murmured, rising up through the dust and gaining altitude. He soared high and fast, not bothering to look at the passing landscape below.

For a while Tony was silent, but after the first hour, he sighed and spoke. "Jarvis, by estimate, what percentage of the human population has Fey blood?"

"The current population and generation, sir?"

"Yeah."

"Approximately one hundred percent have _some_ percentage of Fey genetics in their composition now," Jarvis replied.

"Huh. So what percentage of the population has enough to exhibit outward manifestations and be considered part of the Fey community?" Tony pressed on.

"I cannot present an accurate figure—"

"--Estimate, Jarvis. I'm looking for a ballpark figure."

"Given the information I have gleaned from various databases, I would put the percentage at three point five percent of the world's population, sir."

"So that's roughly half the current population of Europe," Tony mentally calculated. "That's a lot of people with wings out there."

"Not all of them have wings," Jarvis pointed out. "Fey characteristics are not limited to physically observable ones, sir."

"I know, I know," Tony sighed. "Charm and Glamour and Luck. Any others?"

"Beauty has often been linked as a Fey trait," the AI added, "And there is documentation that certain manifestations of prodigy are Fey-related."

"Like Mozart?"

"It seems to be generally accepted as so in the Fey community," Jarvis agreed. "In my discussions with Mister Bes, we have often—"

"Whoa! You have had discussions with _Cupid_?" Tony gawked. "Seriously?"

"Indeed, sir."

"But he only shows up in dreams . . ." came the confused comment. "And you don't—"

"I do, sir. I created a random imagery computation program that I run for myself from midnight until three in the morning. This simulates REM sleep, and through it, I am able to in effect, dream."

Tony blinked, startled and intrigued by this revelation. "You dream."

"After a fashion," the AI agreed.

"That is . . . and you talk to Cupid?"

"Indeed. We have had several enlightening conversations on many topics. I find him to be an endless source of information on the foibles of humanity, particularly in regard to the concept of love."

"Great. Next thing you're going to tell me is that you can _love_, too," Tony muttered. "Got your eye on the Braun coffeemaker, or maybe my Alfa-Romeo?"

"Our sense of irony has a fine edge at the moment, I see," Jarvis replied. "However, no. Lush as your appliances and modes of transportation might be, I cannot even begin to simulate an attraction to any of them."

"It better not be the Suit," Tony warned as the alarming image of Jarvis sweet-talking his armor dawned on him.

"Nor that. I am not capable of love as you understand it," Jarvis assured him. "Mr. Bes and I have discussed the matter at length, and while I can appreciate the model and theory of love, there are too many variables in it even for a program of my complexity and capacity."

"It IS pretty damned glorious," Tony agreed. "From a human or Fey point of view. So . . . what else have you discussed?"

"Young Maximillian is a favored topic," Jarvis replied evenly.

Tony blinked. Under him the land had long since disappeared to be replaced by water, endless, wrinkled and grey. "Jarvis, security directives expressly in place _forbid_ you to discuss Max!"

"No security directives have been violated or breeched, sir. Mr. Bes has repeatedly shared information with me about Max and I have asked questions in return. That is neither dangerous nor by the strict sense conversation. I theorize that Mr. Bes is attempting to pass on information that he cannot state directly to you or Miss Potts."

"Shit," Tony gritted his teeth. "Okay, let's have it. What's he saying about Max?"

"That your son is more powerful than Mab," Jarvis replied.

"What? No shit?"

"Your orders are unclear, sir—do you wish to defecate or not?"

Tony growled. "Neither, Jarvis—file the terms under slang interjections. Seriously, Max is going to be more powerful than the Wicked Witch of West?"

"No, sir. Is."

*** *** ***

Pepper pushed away the laptop, feeling an ache behind her eyes. Catching up on office Email was always a chore; more so now that she could only do it in chunks of time here and there. Prior to Max's birth she'd worked to streamline her job and share some of the lesser tasks with Tony's immediate office staff, but several of the key day to day operations still required her deft touch.

Still, it was manageable, and Pepper was grateful that she'd had time to juggle the bulk of it. She glanced over to the bassinette, where Max lay sprawled on his back, milk-glutted and sound asleep.

Finally.

He'd been a bit of a terror in the past hour, crying and fussing while she walked the floor with him. Pepper figured that he was working his way through a major BM and rubbed his tummy until his beet-red, scrunchie-face expression changed and she felt the weight shift in his diaper.

She'd laughed; years of dealing with Tony Stark made _this_ little event barely noticeable. Once Pepper had changed her son's diaper and settled him down amid the tribbles, Max had sighed and drifted off to the soft hum of his fuzzy guardians.

Pepper stretched, checking the clock and noting that Max would probably be down for at least two hours . . . she debated which she wanted more—a chance to bathe, or a chance to stretch her wings.

"Jarvis, what is Tony's ETA?" she asked softly.

"He should be arriving within an hour," came the prompt reply.

That settled matters nicely, and Pepper smiled to herself, moving to the master bedroom, humming. She ran the water, added Lilac Butter Wing Toner, extended herself, and lay back in the tub, giving herself over to bliss.

Wing care was one of her favorite self-indulgences, and Pepper was amused at how her own rituals fascinated Tony. He was good about taking care of his own wings—Ming's Pond Polish was his current favorite; a Dragonfly lotion that added luster to his own pair, but they didn't hold the same interest for Tony as her own did.

And that definitely delighted Pepper. She knew she had a decent figure, and nice legs of course; she worked hard enough to keep both of those in good shape. The wings, though, were her one private vanity, and to have Tony entranced by them . . .

After soaking for a good half-hour, Pepper rose and dried off, fluttering her wet wings to dry them completely. The tawny colors were looking better now after Max's birth, and the shoulder tufts were . . . fluffier.

She wrapped herself in a mocha colored towel and stepped out of the steamy bathroom, heading for the dresser, but the sound of footsteps made her look up to see Tony there, sweaty, tousled and wide-eyed in his tank top and sweats.

Pepper took a step backwards, smirking. "Tony--"

"Wannnnnnnt," he replied, staring hungrily. "Pepper----"

"But I just got _clean_," came her token protest. "And you're all . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, covered in essence of hero," he grumbled, moving closer and reaching out for her. Pepper squeaked as Tony wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her chin, his heat and musk dissolving her protests like Alka-Seltzer.

He always smelled good, even sweaty, Pepper knew. Tony was one of the few men she'd ever encountered whose body chemistry held a permanent appeal for her. She wanted to chalk it up to Fey influence, but couldn't figure out how . . . and concentrating was getting difficult now, with Tony's fingers trying to tug her towel off as he licked her throat. "Mmmmmm, moth flavor, my favorite!"

"You are . . ." Pepper squirmed, "_such _a . . ."

"Horndog? Guilty," Tony whispered, his own wings sliding out through the wide armholes of his tank top. "But given the temptation of a nearly nude _you_ all damp and buttery, and the wings and all--"

"Max—"

"Is sound asleep, surrounded by his adoring fluff-groupies," Tony assured her, moving to nibble her ear. Pepper groaned a little, wriggling once more, but not in an attempt to escape this time. "He's fine. _You_ on the other hand, look as if you need some attention."

"Oh this is about _me_?" she retorted with amusement, flicking her wings a little. Tony pressed up against her, making her back up until her calves bumped the edge of the bed.

"Yep," Tony growled. "All about _you_ needing _me_ to . . . relax you. Everyone knows new moth mothers are too tense."

"Everyone?" Pepper let herself fall backwards on the bed, pulling Tony down with her. The beautiful spread of her wings across the mattress made him suck in a deep breath.

"Every . . . oh God you're gorgeous, Pepper . . ." came his awed whisper. "Are you . . . is this okay? I mean, because it's been a while and I know you're healing . . ." Tony fumbled, not sure of his words as he leaned over her.

Pepper reached up and let her fingers dance along the edges of his wings. "Not yet, but we definitely can do a few _other_ things."

"Yeah?" his dark eyed look of lustful speculation made Pepper giggle.

"Yes. Ever read _Joy of Wings, _Tony?"

"No. Maybe you should show me the highlights," he suggested. "I'm a very good student when I'm . . . motivated."

Pepper kissed him, her fingertips flicking gently against the membrane of his wings. Tony gulped a little, body rocking forward. He broke off the kiss, "Whoa!"

"That's called romantic raindrops," Pepper told him sweetly. "And I can go faster or slower, depending on how nice I want to be."

"Okay, I _have_ to read this book!" Tony announced. "Do it again, please?"

She did, moving her hands out as far as she could reach along each wing, varying the intensity of her touch and watching Tony respond. It was fun to see him speechless, caught up in the delicacy of her caresses. After a while, Pepper rose up on her knees and bent to nibble the edge of one wing, Tony gurgled, his lean body as tense as a bow.

"Stop . . ." came his ragged plea. "Gonna lose it, sweetheart, if you do that . . ."

She laughed and slipped a hand into his sweatpants, caressing his rampant shaft, stroking it as she leaned against him and firmly nipped his wing.

With a strangled groan, Tony arched against her fingers, splattering them with enthusiastic spurts, his body shuddering. Pepper licked his wing ridge where she had bitten, and helped ease him down onto the mattress, taking care not to bend any wings. Tony stretched out, limp as a pot of over boiled Ramen. "Unnnnnnnghhhhh. Book. Top. Of. Reading list. ASAP."

"Shhhh," she murmured, and rose up. One wet washcloth and pants stripping later, Pepper curled up next to Tony, amused that he was fighting sleep.

"This was supposed to be about _you_," he mumbled. "Although I'm not sure I can move, not after that wing-bite hand job from heaven."

"Two weeks," Pepper whispered to him. "You can make it up to me in two weeks, Tony. That should give you time to catch up on your . . . reading."

"Deal," Tony sighed, slipping an arm around her and pulling her in for a kiss before adding, "hey, I've got news for you, too. Did you know word is that Max is more powerful than Mab?"

Pepper laughed, softly. "Tony, he's only a month old, and Mab is easily a thousand years beyond that. Who told you this line?"

"Jarvis, via Cupid. I think that explains why the Godmother wants us to sign on the dotted line," Tony sighed. "She's desperate to keep in good with us."

"Right," Pepper snorted softly, settling around Tony and closing her eyes. "I'm so glad you've got it all figured out."

They said nothing more and drifted off to sleep, wrapped around each other.

In the nursery, Max slept on, dreaming of rainbows as the walls of the mansion shifted colors, and clusters of confused tribbles drifted over the crib, humming softly and tumbling in fuzzy constellations over his head.

End

_(coming next: All About Max, with apologies to Lois Lowry.)_


End file.
